


Our Dawn She Sails

by Mottled_System



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Navy, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Crush, Background Poly, Blood and Violence, Bromance, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Crush at First Sight, Crushes, Dark Magic, Daydreaming, Dead People, Death, Domestic Fluff, Dominant Kylo Ren, Drinking, Dysfunctional Family, Elemental Magic, Epic Bromance, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Family, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Issues, First Crush, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Found Family, Gay Pirates, Gratuitous Smut, Gun Violence, Injury, Kylo Ren Angst, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, M/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Medical Procedures, Mermaids, Millenium Falcon (Star Wars), Minor Character Death, Multi, Navy, POV Alternating, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, POV Third Person Omniscient, Pirates, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Possessive Kylo Ren, Present Tense, Protective Kylo Ren, Romantic Fluff, Sea Shanties, Secret Crush, Smut, Swordfighting, Swordplay, Swords, Takodana Castle (Star Wars), Teen Crush, The Force Is Replaced By Magic (Star Wars), Threats of Violence, Top Kylo Ren, Training, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Phasma (Star Wars), Unrequited Crush, Violence, Violent Thoughts, Virgin Kylo Ren, Witches, the resistance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 07:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30051981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottled_System/pseuds/Mottled_System
Summary: You are Dawn, a pirate aboard the Crimson Dawn, an infamous and deadly ship captained by Maul.The Resistance, another pirate ship- once a beacon of hope in a dark, dark world- is on the hunt for an old crewmember, retired pirate Luke Skywalker. After a brief battle on the island of Takodana, they take you captive in hopes to harness your magical strength to aid their hunt for Skywalker.And the Supremacy- the most deadly ship in the Order's Navy- is on the hunt for both ships. One, the Crimson Dawn, that poses a true and tangible threat to the Order, and the other the last remnant of the Rebellion, a force of nature that had opposed it long ago. When they finally wreck the ship, they only manage to capture you, something of a poster child for the Crimson Dawn, tearing away perhaps the Resistance's last chance at finding Skywalker.And that is where you meet Kylo Ren, the best Sailing Master any ship has ever seen. He has a personal grudge against Skywalker, and he fully intends to use you for his own ends... In more ways than one.
Relationships: Armitage Hux & Phasma, Armitage Hux/Phasma, Ben Solo & Reader, Ben Solo & You, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren & Reader, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren & You, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/You, Ben Solo/Reader, Ben Solo/You, Bo-Katan Kryze & Maul, Bo-Katan Kryze/Maul, Darth Maul & Bo-Katan Kryze, Darth Maul/Bo-Katan Kryze, Finn & Rey (Star Wars), Finn/Rey (Star Wars), Kaydel Ko Connix/Paige Tico, Kylo Ren & Reader, Kylo Ren & You, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You, Leia Organa & Han Solo, Leia Organa/Han Solo, Poe Dameron & Rose Tico, Poe Dameron/Rose Tico
Kudos: 7





	1. Prologue - Much Worse | Our Dawn | Growing Cold

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a Kylo Ren pirate fic and was inspired to write one of my own. I put off reading it until I started my own so I didn't accidentally steal ideas from it... So here's my Kylo pirate fic, so I can read the other one, 'cause I really, really wanna.  
> Most of the plot is stolen *ahem* inspired by The Force Awakens, just adapted to fit the pirate gimmick and the Kylo x Reader angle.
> 
> I am a whore for reviews please be nICE TO ME.

_ Much Worse _

The sun is low in the sky as Kylo Ren stares out at it, a peace settled over the ship. His favorite times have always been the earliest hours of the morning as the majority of the crew sleeps.

He’s never been fond of people. He’s never been fond of noise. Here, on the Supremacy- in the Navy- the people were more bearable, the noise more controlled.

The Captain wanders onto the wheelhouse earlier than usual, walking slowly and with his usual air of, well, supremacy.

“Ren,” greets the man with his deep, gnarled voice, his asymmetrical, crystal blue eyes holding a sinister gleam.

“Captain,” Kylo says in return, nodding by way of greeting.

“Have you received any news, recently, of your uncle?”

Kylo feels his jaw tense immediately and carefully keeps his face as neutral as possible. Snoke leans casually against the rail, looking out at the horizon. “No.”

“There are… Rumors.”

“Mm.” At that, Snoke’s eyes fall critically onto Kylo’s masterfully impassive face. He forces himself to relax, but even as he looks more settled, he is tense as the anger courses through his muscles, threatening to seize them up once more. “And what are they, pray tell?”

“That your mother has found him.”

Kylo turns his eyes to the wheel, rubbing the old and worn wood, familiar to him as a Sailing Master. “Interesting.”

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He  _ doesn’t care _ .

“We’ll find them, my boy. That, I promise you.”

“And we’ll crush them,” Kylo says, the words grating themselves through his teeth. Snoke’s eyes light up with amusement at Kylo’s animosity.

“That, we will.”

KC-7489 emerges from below, rubbing his hands on a soiled apron as he approaches the meal bell. Silently, Kylo and the Captain watch the cook as he dings it once, twice, thrice, indicating that breakfast is ready. The weather is lovely this morning, and it seemed like it would be for hours at least; the crew did not need to find harbor for breakfast or likely lunch. Snoke turns and slowly saunters away as the distant sounds of the sailors below deck making their way to the food drift up to Kylo’s ears. He stays dutifully at the wheel, as well as the few sailors who had been on shift with him all night. In return for their less than preferable hours, they got the best food for lunch and dinner, but the others had their pick of breakfast.

Kylo didn’t mind. He seemed to mistake his indifference for comfort, for quality of life. But then, he didn’t know any better-

Only worse. Much, much worse.

_ Our Dawn _

The breeze blows over the sails softly, gently, and you gaze up at it tiredly. You’ve just eaten, your stomach full. The others in your crew have gone to attend to their duties, but you- as the resident cook and surgeon of the Crimson Dawn- have nothing to do after meal times whenever she isn’t in battle. When she is, of course, you are a gunman- you work under Ventress, the most experienced Master Gunner onboard.

The other pirates largely ignore you, save for the occasional light-hearted razz, stepping around or even over you. You don’t mind; you’d grown up on this ship, with largely the same crew. The hardened faces of these marauders are familiar to you, and your bright-eyed oddities are known to them.

You’re always off in your own world, even when you participate in their shanties, help with their chores. You don’t want to be anywhere else, though- you want to be here, half involved in the moment and half taken by the future adventures that would take you all over the world.

“Ooooohhhhh!  _ Our Dawn she sails from dusk till dawn _ …” Rat Jack begins in the distance, and other pirates join in waves. It’s the main shanty that the crew of the Crimson Dawn sings, most of its words changing with each new time it's sung, but the beginning remains the same.

You join in on the next verse, still laying on the weathered wood floor- “Oh! Our Dawn she sails from dusk till dawn, from dawn to dusk and all day long…”

Fitz, another Master Gunner and your father, nuzzles you gently with his boot as he steps over you. “Careful, Dawn,” he says, and you pause in the song. “Someone’ll step on your hair.”

He always says that. Sometimes, he even steps on it on purpose- he’d accidentally taught your older brother, Fitzie, to do it when the two of you were tykes, a habit he had kept to even now, well into adulthood. “I’ve got my sword ready for them, then. I’m not easy to miss.”

“It’s your head,” Fitz warns as he walks off, another common warning.

“It’s their wound! And they best not think I’ll patch them up if I’m the one they piss off.”

“That’s how you do it!” Daddy Long Legs calls to you. You glance over at him- Daddy’s probably your favorite pirate on this ship- and see him leaning against the mast, slugging a canteen of moonshine. When he lowers the canteen, there’s a visible trail of beads in his long, matted beard. He gives a crooked, nearly toothless grin.

He’s so strange, ever drunk, and maddened by a lifetime on the sea. He looks wild and uncouth; he’s sloppy and careless; he is happy, with a lifetime full of wonderful, exciting memories on the sea. You want to be exactly like him.

Peggy Legs- his de facto wife- slaps his ass as she passes by. She’s too pretty for him, barely over half his age, but she’s as wild and strange as he is. He lets out a strange cackle and hobbles after her, likely to repay her for her act; she crooks a brilliant smirk over her shoulder and scurries away, giggling.

“Dawn!”

The Captain’s cry rings out authoritatively across the deck. It’s a sound that, calling any other name, often inspires whispers and snickers, but they pay no mind to you- it’s a well known fact that Maul adores you, even with his animosity and admittedly grumpy disposition. With an overly-dramatic sigh, you launch yourself onto your feet in a rather impressive maneuver. Locust lets out a cat call, eyeing you, and you cast them a playful look and saunter off.

You head over to where Maul awaits you, sitting on an overturned bucket and sharpening his sword. You stand before him, watching his intense focus and mastery of the blade with admiration for a long moment before he sits back, appraises the blade, and sheaths the sword. Only then does he look up at you.

His hellish, red-and-gold eyes are fiery and fierce, his jaw set in a near permanent grimace. You tilt your head curiously at him, awaiting his words. “It’s time for training,” he says. You blink and glance at the water, noticing land nearby- a large island. One that the Dawn stops regularly at to trade.

You don’t train on the ship yet. You’ve been in the occasional sword fight on the deck, but the crew was so skilled, the weapons fair enough, that it was a rare occasion to be boarded. And, according to Maul, you did better slower, with structure.

There were many types of blade, and each needed different care. This was yours, he told you- and he would hone you into the sharpest, meanest blade.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

He stands and tosses you the whetstone, which you expertly catch. “Sharpen your blade. Meet me in the usual spot when you’re ready.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” You sit on the bucket and begin to sharpen your blade, glancing up occasionally at him as he walks off, meeting the Quartermaster- Bo Katan- near the wheel, talking. You can’t hear them over the loud, drunken shanties;  _ Our Dawn, she sails… _

You’d pined for Maul as a girl. He was big and strong and mean, stern and serious, wicked with a blade, cunning in battle. There were many men and boys on this ship, and they were fun and funny and skilled and sweet.

Maul was different, and you had liked that. Maybe you still pined for him, in a way, but it had begun to change when he had begun to train you.

It was strange now. It made you shift and squirm, unsettled you, when you noticed the fit of his clothes, his muscles as he moved and fought and taught you. He was far older than you. He was older than your parents. He had helped your mother as she birthed you. He had named you.

You hadn’t realized how strange it had been when you were a tyke. You do now.

Bo-Katan glances over at you and you meet her eye. It would be wrong to say that she was involved with Maul in any serious way- there were many true lovers on this ship; Daddy and Peggy, Mantis and Ladybug, Anya and Crow, Domme and Princess. There were many more casual pairings, like Bubbles and Max, Daddy and Wendy, Peggy and Wendy. There were one-off nights between many of the pirates. Bo-Katan and Maul were different, though not truly unique… They were, arguably, together- like Ventress and Rat Jack, Tubby and Sharkbait.

Bo-Katan doesn’t like you. She had tolerated you as a tyke, but looking back now it was obvious that she never really had. She wasn’t fond of your mother, she absolutely despised your father and your brother.

She is decidedly different around you. You are an important ally. You’ve saved her life in battle many times, and she has done the same for you. You are the darling of the Captain. If Maul is to be believed, then one day, you will perhaps be one of the most deadly women- deadly people- on the seas, in the world.

You think she notices your girlish fondness of Maul. Their- ‘involvement’- is certainly not faithful; he spends nights with wenches on land, and she was no stranger to nights with men, other sailors, sometimes the occasional crewman. But there is a noticeable shift in her disposition when she looks at you, when she sees you with him. The look glitters in her dark eyes now. You turn your attention back to your blade.

She doesn’t hate you. She isn’t enraged by your lingering crush. It wouldn’t fill your mind so much if it was so simple, so easy to understand.

You don’t like not knowing things. You don’t like secrets, hidden things, but you can’t very well ask her, couldn’t ever speak it aloud. Even if you could, it wouldn’t be a wise thing to do. So you sit there and you squirm as you feel her strange gaze upon you.

And then, your mind wanders. It isn’t a lingering worry, it isn’t something that keeps you up at night. You focus on your beautiful, hand-forged blade, perfect it carefully.

You have work to do. For Maul, for the Dawn, for your friends and your crew. You focus on that wholly.

_ Growing Cold _

The Resistance is alight with whispers as the small crew attends to their duties. Leia and Han stand behind Chewie as he steers, talking softly about their course. Holdo saunters slowly across the deck, her attentive eyes studying the crew, ensuring they focus on their tasks even as they talk. Poe and Finn are mopping the deck, laughing and bantering and generally screwing around; occasionally, Holdo feels entitled to chide them, but for the most part they do their work without prompting. Rey and Kaydel are below deck, almost done scrubbing clean the dishes from breakfast. Rose and Paige are doing basic maintenance as the three Ackbars- Gail, AJ, and Jesmin- attend to the sails. Maz attends to everyone’s blades and guns, keeping them in tip-top condition.

All fifteen crewmembers of the small pirate ship are busy. They are in relatively merry spirits, though there is a strange air of uncertainty and even worry amongst them.

They continue their search for Skywalker; an expert bladesmith and healer; a magic man; a crewman on Leia’s father’s old ship from long ago, the Rebellion; Han’s old friend; Leia’s twin brother.

Nearly ten years he’s been gone. Half of the crew of the Resistance have never met him before, and Leia knows he is a far different man than the one she and Chewie and Han had known so long ago. She can feel it in her bones, a witch herself.

They have their first, real, credible lead in years. The search for him has been pushed squarely onto the backburner as they hid from the Navy, hid from the Supremacy- the Navy’s finest, deadliest ship.

The crew of the Resistance is considerably smaller than it once had been. Even full of experienced witches, masters with guns, skilled swordsmen, they are no match for the Supremacy or, for that matter, many other ships. They are doing little more than biding their time.

Their ship is well known, once a beacon of hope, the spiritual successor to the Rebellion, which had truly been a force to have been reckoned with. It is also well known how down on their luck they had been in recent years.

Finn and Rey are their most rookie members, and it had been almost two years since they’d first boarded the Resistance. Many of the world's peoples had long ago lost all hope in the Resistance, all hope that it could ever do as much for them as the Rebellion had in aiding them against the increasingly harsh rule of the growing Order and its ferocious Navy.

Leia and Han try desperately to keep the crew’s spirits alive, to keep their hope in anything other than just Luke, but it is difficult when finding Luke is clearly their last-ditch attempt at reawakening the zeitgeist that had once possessed the Resistance, and the Rebellion before them.

All they have left is the bare minimum, embedded firmly into the ground of rock bottom. They are the last dying embers of a once brilliant blaze, and they are quickly growing cold.

Luke will help them. He has to. And they’ll find him-  _ they have to _ .


	2. One - The Contact

The turquoise waves and their pale sea foam roll lazily onto the sandy white beach upon which you stand with your master, swords at the ready. The rest of the crew is littered all across Takodana, most of them headed into Maz’s Watering Hole for a day of rest. Maul stalks in a circle around you like a looming threat. You don’t turn to face him but you track him in your mind, listening to his nearly silent footfalls, feeling the mere presence of him like it were a tangible cloud around him. It’s instinct, at this point, to track your foe, to know and sense and feel them with the magic that resides within you, within Maul, within so few. As he rounds you once more, you see him twirl his sword expertly in his hands as if it were second nature- and it is.

You know him, his style, his moves. Sometimes he is purposefully unpredictable, but not this time. He means to round you again and attack you from behind.

Suddenly- as fast as a lightning strike- you dart forth and send your blade flying towards him.

It isn’t safe to practice with real swords. Sword fights aren’t what most people think of- metal clashing against metal for minutes. Sword fights are fast, often lasting only moments. A weaker opponent, a less talented foe, would have been dead from this move, or the next, or the next.

But you are different. Maul is different. You are masters of blades and magic.

Maul, taken off guard, barely manages to block your blow. He recovers quickly- you don’t live as long as Maul in this life without the quickest reflexes- and sends his blade sweeping towards you.

But you are no weaker opponent, either. Your swords clash two, three, four times before there is a victor- you send your sword crashing into his shoulder, barely missing his neck in the last moment as you realize that you have won. He hisses and recoils. The wound is not lethal, but it isn’t pretty.

You don’t usually win… But, with each passing month, the occasion happens more and more frequently. You sheath your blade as he sits unceremoniously on a large rock and you carefully tug his shirt away to appraise the wound.

“Can you move your arm?”

He makes a fist, eye twitching at the pain. “Yes.”

You use your magic to quickly pull the first aid kit dragging through the sand towards you to care to his wound. Luckily, you’d struck his left shoulder rather than his right- though, of course, he would be fine regardless. He lets out the occasional snarl, occasional hiss, as you sew up the wound. You had softened the blow when you had realized it would be the last; it isn’t terribly deep, not deep enough to do any real damage, but it does need stitches, healing. He watches you with his fiery eyes. When you’re done, you wrap the wound and step back, letting him shoulder his shirt back on properly with a wince.

“You did good,” he says. “You’re getting better.”

“At fighting, or healing?”

“Yes,” he says, standing. He pulls out your sword and looks pointedly at your sullied sheath, then critically at you.

“You were bleeding!” You defend, snatching the sword away to clean it. He makes a noise that resembles a scoff as he walks off. “I’ll remember that next time,” you mutter as you replace him on the stone, tending to your blade.

“Good.” He walks off towards the Watering Hole, leaving you alone.

Once you have cleaned your blade- and your sheath- you head towards it, too.

The Watering Hole-  _ Takodana Castle _ , more formally- is owned by Maz Kanata, though she can be found there less and less often. Rumor has it that she’s taken up residence on the Resistance, another (much smaller) pirate ship, one that Maul hates with a fiery passion. When you walk in, it looks the same as it always has, littered with pirates, smugglers, sailors, locals, gamblers- any sort that could be assumed to be interested in this criminal haven was sure to be found there at any given time. Daddy, Peggy, and Wendy sit together at the bar, laughing and slugging back brew as they are all wont to do. Most other pirates of the Dawn have made their way here, too. You wander through it, half searching for something to do, half content to watch all the people doing all manner of things.

You catch sight of Maz towards the back, sitting alone, her eyes scanning the crowd. You slink into a chair across from her and she turns towards you, head tilting back, peering at you through the rims of her strange glasses.

Maz is a very short woman, a dwarf, with sun-tanned, wrinkled skin. She gives you a pleasant smile before turning her attention out towards the rest of the clientele.

“Hello, Maz,” you say cheerily.

“Hello, child.”

“Whatchya lookin’ for?”

Maz is silent for a moment as she finishes her scan, then looks at you again. “A contact.”

You peer at the people peppered behind her. Maul and Bo-Katan sit together at a small table, a plate of food in front of them each. “What do they look like? Maybe I can help.”

“An old man. White. Explorer type.”

“That  _ certainly _ narrows you down,” you say in a chipper voice.

She gets a small smirk. “Doesn’t it?”

“Any other clues?”

“He had a beard, last I knew. Named Lor San Tekka- heard of him?”

You wrack your brain. It’s possible, but it doesn’t ring any bells loud enough for you to hear. “Don’t think so.”

“Damn,” she whispers under her breath, looking displeased by something.

You close your eyes and feel the people melt away, leaving only their auras, more potent than before, and you search, feeling them with your own like a tyke’s fingers on fresh cookies, looking for the biggest, the best.

You find him and open your eyes, turning around to locate him. He sits in the corner, nursing a drink, looking amicable but just about as stressed as Maz. “There,” you say aloud.

Before you can point him out, or lead her to him, she must know- she’s magical, too- because you can feel her surprise behind you, dancing her potent aura. “How did you do that?”

You look back at her again. “Find him? I’m a witch.”

“I am, too,” she says, eyeing at you like a marvel.

“Well, let’s-”

The door slams open and a succinct uproar sounds amongst the patrons, followed quickly by a heavy silence. You and Maz, as well as everyone in the castle, swivel around to the infamous captain of the Supremacy sauntering in like a king in his palace, followed closely by three other men. Maz stands and you look, for some reason, at San Tekka. You see him tense, his eyes dart quickly around as if searching for an escape. He spots Maz but she wisely does not look back at him.

You know then that whatever Maz and her motley crew are looking for, the Navy wants, too.

“Keep your weapons drawn,” Maz says, looking up at Captain Snoke Palpatine with an arrogant, wizened pride. He walks forward, a behemoth of a man- you’d never seen him before. He’s unnaturally tall, his face asymmetric, his brilliant blue eyes glittering with a predatory gleam. She glances over at the patrons. “Everyone.”

“Don’t worry, madam Kanata,” Snoke says in a gravelly voice. “We’re not here for your… Den of degeneracy.  _ Yet _ .” He spits the words with a self-aggrandizing malevolence, a sadistic disposition washed over him.

You’ve met many sailors in the army. Most of the grunts were honest, hard working men. A few of the higher ups were, too, but Snoke seems to be as wicked as the worst of them. You long to bury your sword into his empty, soulless chest.

“Why are you here, then?” Maz asks, placing a hand on her glittering, precious wand in a clear warning- the only rule of this place is absolutely  _ no _ violence of any kind. Maz had held up the rule with an iron, practiced fist for decades, ever since its birth as a  _ den of degeneracy _ .

Snoke laughs and saunters towards the bar, picking up Wendy’s fresh bottle with a cruel gleam in his eyes. Daddy, who sits beside her, tenses and scowls at him, but even in his drunken state he knows better than to disobey Maz. You take his pause to study the three men who accompany him, still standing near the gaping entryway.

The leftmost man is pale with a neat pile of white-blonde hair on his head. He stands over six feet tall. His face is smooth and pretty, and while it is unmistakably feminine, he holds an air of absolute masculinity about him. Curves can be seen even beneath his loose navy garb.

You’d never have known were it not for the magic. Many men had softer cheeks, rounder eyes. He didn’t look or feel like a woman. You feel a pang of what might be guilt for prodding too far into his mind.

The man who stands in the middle is shorter, though not by much, his orange hair in a sleek, careful style. His chin is turned upwards, his handsome face marred by a posh, ambitious pride. He is not so sadistic as Snoke, nor as cool and composed as the blond man. To many, he may be a threat in battle- but, you know- you can feel- that he would not be to you.

The third man stands as much taller than the ginger as he is shorter than the blonde, his dark hair long and wavy. His face is long, his nose large and hooked, his fair pink lips plump and set. His eyes are deadly, scanning the crowd as if he can sense the souls of each person in it at a glance. He’s magical- more magical than Snoke, than Maz, than Maul, than you. Everyone’s magic is different, of course, but his seems to flow through him too strong, too potent.

“I think you know why we’re here, madam,” Snoke says. The dark haired man meets your eye and his disposition changes faintly- before you can sense him further, though, he closes himself off, withdrawing himself from sight. You’d never known anyone who was able to do that before- not even Maul. His eyes linger on you, his stern face impassive, for several moments longer than he’d looked at anyone else. Though you can’t feel him, you know that he is reading you as easily as you read anyone. Then, his eyes move along the crowd, his face entirely unchanged by anything he had seen within you.

“Apologies, sir. I’m afraid I don’t rightly do.” Maz says.

“Skywalker,” sneers Snoke, his voice dark, brow furrowed, unamused at having to spell it out. Whispers, brief and quiet, course through the crowd before quickly dying. You’d feel for San Tekka’s reaction, look for it, if you weren’t so frightened to give it away to the dark haired man.

He will find it in him regardless. You need to do something, to stop him. Maul might hate the crewmembers of the Resistance, but he was too wise to not know that you- all of you- must keep Skywalker out of the Order’s clutches- especially with a witch like the dark haired man amongst them.

You’re almost in shock. Witches aren’t allowed in the Navy- but then, neither were men like the blond. There was something strange, different,  _ special _ about the Supremacy. There must be.

“I don’t know where Skywalker is,” Maz says. “And if I did, I certainly wouldn’t tell  _ you _ .”

With her brazen defiance, the air in the room changes to downright dangerous. Snoke turns to glower at her, slamming Wendy’s bottle onto the bartop. She jumps and eyes him with anger. “Luke Skywalker is wanted for high treason, conspiracy to commit treason, a slew of reprehensible crimes- as are you and your  _ friends _ , Kanata. I think you will find it a lot easier to avoid the gallows if you cooperate.”

Maz lets out a laugh like a dog letting out a bark. “If I’m such a nasty criminal, why on earth would I care about  _ that? _ ”

Snoke’s eyes gleam with anger and vengeance. He nonchalantly gives a flick of his wrist to the three men behind him; the entirety of the clientele place their hands on their weapons; blond turns and walks out, no weapon drawn.

“I suggest you leave, sir,” Maz says. You can see the ginger eyeing the crowd with condescending hatred, disgust. “I have a lot of friends here. I’m sure the Order would hate to lose three of its most capable sailors.”

“Oh,” says Snoke. “We will leave. You and your ragtag gang of marauders will rue the day you ever chose to oppose the Order.” With that, the man turns and walks out, the ginger and the witch turning and following him out. The door is left open. No one moves for a long, pregnant moment, and then-

_ BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!  _ Four canons fire in quick succession. From the doorway you can see the large, black army ship fire upon an old, weathered one- one far smaller- the Resistance.

Pirate ships don’t shoot pirate ships to ruin them, almost without exception. Navy ships, however, always do.

Everyone is moving then, talking and screaming and running. Everyone’s auras grow too loud, too hectic, for you to make everything out, and people move hurriedly, causing a blur. You swivel as soon as your brain processes the commotion to search for your captain, but Maul and Bo-Katan have vanished. You search for Maz, but she is nowhere to be found- whether because of her size or her speed, you know not. You rush forward towards San Tekka, meeting him on his way out the back door.

“You’re the contact,” you breathe, confident your words will be lost to everyone but the old man before you. He gives a brief nod and you turn. “Come with me. We have to keep you away from the Order first and foremost.”

“Yes,” he says, letting you lead him off. You sneak out the back door and speed to the treeline, crouching amongst the foliage, behind the great trunks of the ancient trees. “It’ll be easy to hide you amongst the magic of the forest,” you say.

“You’re a witch?”

“Yes.” It’s not safe to admit. The Order burns witches- or, rather, those they expect to be witches. They are often mistaken.

“Good.”

You scurry a fair distance into the woods and bid San Tekka to sit between a rowan and an aspen tree and you quickly gather acorns, dancing around him and dropping them behind you as you quietly sing in an old, forgotten language, invoking the magic that courses through the air. When you’ve circled San Tekka and the trees three times, you sit in front of him and let the world fade away, hiding you both should the witch be searching for you.

Here, connected to the magic, you find him easily, his own personal defenses be damned. He spars with three crew members of the Resistance in clear view of their slowly sinking ship. He is ferocious and talented- far stronger than the three he spars with- but fighting off three foes is no easy feet. Talent, practice, magic be damned- he should be dead. He should die at any moment.

He doesn’t.

He knows it’s San Tekka, knows his face, but not whatever San Tekka knew. You’re careful to keep your mind away from San Tekka’s, not willing to invite the same danger onto yourself. Instead, you spend your focusing on shielding San Tekka and tracking the witch as he fights expertly. He almost kills all of them several times, but again, three against one is hardly fair. If they weren’t so hellbent on protecting one another, they’d likely kill him at the cost of one of their own, but it is a trade they all seem unwilling to make.

A choice that will surely sew all of their doom, you’re sure.

_ Bang! Bang! Bang! _ Three shots fire from a gun- one by one, the witch’s foes drop. The ginger sneers at the witch, scolds him for wasting time, and is quickly off.

“Find the contact!”

You feel the witch relax and melt into the magic, no circle required. Before you can pull back, before you can pour every ounce of energy into shielding yourself, the witch finds you as if you are a lighthouse and he a ship at sea. You let out an angry oath and break the contact, utterly altered by a mere moment of magical connection with this too-strong man. You surge to your feet and unnaturally break the circle; the magic around you cries out and falters, then returns crashing into you in punishment. But you have no time for proper magic now.

You grab San Tekka’s arm and run full speed away from the witch, away from the beach. You can sense him coming towards you, pouring all his focus on keeping track of you rather than concealing himself. Whether it's for lack of care or ability you do not stop to wonder, but you’d be certain it’s the former if you did. San Tekka is all but dragged behind you and you reluctantly slow. The witch follows you as you slowly round the castle, careful to stay close enough that he doesn’t find it prudent to take another route but be far enough to keep the contact safe.

“I doubt you’ll go for this,” you say to a panting San Tekka as you make your way towards the other side of the beach. “But, if I kill you, the Order can’t get you, can’t use you to find Skywalker.”

“I’d rather avoid that, if I could,” San Tekka mutters.

“Alright. But if he finds us, I won’t hesitate.”

“Comforting.”

You’re not sure if that’s sarcasm. You’re not sure that he knows, either.

You find Maul on the beach with Bo-Katan, your parents, and a handful of other crewmates as they fight off Navy sailors- some with swords, some with guns. Maz and what you presume to be her own crewmates are further along the beach, fighting as well. The Dawn is nowhere to be seen- it’s likely Maul had sent a small crew out to keep it far from the all-too trigger happy Supremacy. Only the tallest masts of the Resistance are visible now. Snoke must not have wanted to waste more than four canons on the old thing.

You and San Tekka hop over the bodies of the three fallen merfolk slain by the ginger as you lead the contact towards Maul.

“This isn’t safe!” San Tekka roars to be heard over the gunshots, the sounds of the battle.

“Nowhere is safe, fool! Our best shot is to be by Maul-  _ your _ best shot.”

“No,” he argues, pulling on his arm. “Maz.”

“No,” you rebut. “The Resistance is dwindling as it is. If you tell her now, she’s likely to be captured. The witch- the dark haired one- will surely get it out of her. I can feel it.” With that, San Tekka acquiesces and begrudgingly lets you lead him towards Maul. You draw both swords and send them sinking into the back of the sailor behind your captain. “Stay between us! You won’t be shot.”

“And how do you know  _ that _ ?”

As if on cue, the ginger fires a shot right at him; his orders must be, first and foremost, to keep the information away from the Resistance. You let the bullet come close to San Tekka before sending it straight down into the sand, useless.

An order echoes throughout the waves of sailors- “Avast! Retreat!” In droves the sailors duck away, avoiding bullets and swords. Several more of them fall as they retreat, neither your own crew nor the remnants of the sunken Resistance cease fire as they go until they are out of sight.

You’ve lost track of the witch while in battle, but you’d known you had- between you and Maul, you were confident you could protect San Tekka even from him. You search the forest for his presence- extend your magic onto the Supremacy- scan the sand for his fallen body- but you do not find him. He’s closed himself off again.

The ten remaining crewmembers of the fallen Resistance walk slowly towards you all. Maz stands behind a behemoth of a man, his face obscured by a giant beard, his chestnut hair long and unruly. Beside them, an older couple, one of whom you recognize faintly as Han Solo, a regular at Takodana Castle. Two eastern girls clutch hands- sisters, you feel. A dark man helps a limping friend as he winces with each step. Two more girls, likely no older than yourself, finish the group.

“Thank you,” says the older woman who stands beside Han Solo. She looks directly at you, and you know- she is a witch, and she can sense your aid. You give a brief nod and glance at Maz, who briefly offers you kind eyes before turning to Maul, growing harsh once more.

“Yes. Thank you. We’ll take our contact and be on our way- I expect you to do the same. Next time you come to the Castle, you can all have a round on the house.”

Noise erupts briefly amongst the crew, but after a moment, it silences. You take a step to the side and turn your head to see Maul as he rounds San Tekka, standing between him and Maz.

This isn’t over, not yet.

“You’re quick to offer gratitude, Organa, Kanata. I’d have thought you’d both know better than that by now.” Maul’s voice is lethal. “I owe Skywalker a small favor for finishing off Sheev Palpatine. I won’t kill him… But I won’t let you find him.”

Maul and Maz exchange silent words, their weathered eyes both dark and grim. Neither of them want to kill the other, but both of them  _ would _ . In a one on one battle, it would be a toss up who would win.

But this would not be a one on one battle. They are outnumbered five to one- more of you are approaching in the distance upon the Dawn- the Supremacy seems to be circling Takodana, waiting to drop in once more.

It happens before you can understand it. Maul sinks his blade clean through San Tekka’s eye, exiting out the back of his head. Several of the decimated crew move to fight, but Maz and Leia stop them.

Silence settles after San Tekka’s body collapses. It is palpable, painful. A sorrow settles over you.

You had wanted to help them. You like Maz.

“I heard that Unkar Plutt just stole the Falcon from the Irving boys. It might be on Jakku.” You offer quietly.

Han Solo looks at you without malice, without the kindness that his wife or Maz had offered. Maz is staring at San Tekka’s corpse, forlorn. “We’ll be needing a ride over there,” she says, her voice bitter.

You look pleadingly at Maul, who meets your eye. His face doesn’t soften; his eyes do not lighten; they never do. But he gives a brief nod.

“On we go, then. To Jakku.”

When the Dawn arrives, you all board it. It is a long, slow, tense journey to Jakku, a desert island in the middle of absolute nowhere.

You can sense from Snoke on the Supremacy that they find San Tekka’s body, surmise that it was Maul who killed him. They assume the remaining crew members of the Resistance have taken shelter in the castle.

You stop looking before you can feel him be told by the witch that they could use you to find Skywalker- or that Maz knows that the Resistance could, too. The Supremacy follows at a safe distance, biding their time, as if the Dawn would lead them straight to Skywalker.


End file.
